Opus Horologium
by writemudblood
Summary: In the process of sacrificing his life in order to defeat Lord Voldemort, Harry's soul splits apart from his body.His sudden disappearance left Hermione searching for clues. And in order to find him, she has to retrace their steps.
1. Chapter 1: The aftermath

**Opus Horologium**

**Disclaimer:** All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

**Author's note:** If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me.

**Chapter one: The Aftermath**

There was a flash of green, a spark in the dark. There was laughter and then there was silence – empty, riveting silence. Harry felt his muscles tense, heat coursing down his spine. Darkness surrounded him.

He grappled the air around him, stumbling over his own feet. Every bone in his body called for rest, but he resisted the urge. Sweat trickled down his back; his throat felt dried. It felt like he'd been stuck in the bottom of a well for days.

_What happened_, he thought. The last thing he remembered was a wand aimed at his heart. The last words he heard were Avada kedavra. _Is this what death's supposed to be, an oblique, desolate place?_

_Was that what I am now? A prisoner of death, left to wander endlessly in the dark?_

His mind tried to process the series of events that led to that moment, one photo after another flashing behind his eyelids. His gritted his teeth at the memory of each death he witnessed, each tear he refused to shed.

_There is only so much grief can a heart hold until it bursts. _

"But it doesn't always have to be that way," a voice echoed inside his head. "Not if you're willing to let someone else in to fill in for the loss."

Harry couldn't help but wince at the thought. _Hermione. _How long has it been since he last saw her? How long has he been stuck here? Is she still alive?

_Had she heard about my death? Had she seen my mangled corpse, my bruised body? Did she try to hold my hand, feel for the pulse that was no longer there? Did she cry too? Did she wrap her arms around my lifeless body and wailed like they did in muggle movies?_

His stomach churned at the thought of her, standing over his grave, tears brimming her eyes.

"Hermione!" he called out to the darkness. "Hermione, where are you? Hermione, can you hear me?" He pounded the solid ground that he stood on, punched the empty air around him. He kicked and screamed, calling out her name. He fought with an invisible enemy he could never defeat- loneliness.

He didn't know how long he laid there, his body more bruised than ever. He didn't have any intention of getting up. _Maybe I could just sleep in, wait for the dawn to come. Maybe I could just close my eyes and open them after my time here has passed._ _Maybe I could just let myself fade, let the darkness swallow me whole._ _And maybe this time I will succeed. Maybe this time I would forget._

"We couldn't find him," Ron's voice sounded tired. He panted heavily, his limbs hung loosely on his sides. "Not one trace. No body. No blood. Nothing. It's like he just disappeared."

He stood in front of the Hogwarts population, along with the other members of the Order. His face looked grave. Dark circles formed under his eyes and his skin was cut in various places. His face was grimy and his hair looks like it hasn't been washed for days. He was wearing his Gryffindor shirt and a black jacket, all covered in mud. He looked exactly as he had been a few days ago.

He looked like a boy who had just lost his best friend.

"And Voldemort," McGonagall asked. She looked terribly old in her tattered emerald green robes, and her voice shook at the mention of his name. No one ever thought the Head of the Gryffindor House could ever sound so fragile.

Ron shook his head. "Like Harry. There was no trace of him either. We captured the rest of the death eaters on the outskirts of the forest but none of them would speak up. Either that or they have no clue on his whereabouts, said he disappeared in a flash."

Collected gasps sprung from the crowd, hushed discussions passing from one house to another. "So what happens now," asked a little boy in his Ravenclaw uniform. He looked barely twelve and his eyes shone with curiosity. "Is the war over?"

Silence fell across the Great Hall.

"Even if what we feared has happened, and Harry lost, Voldemort would not be able to succeed. The imprisonment of his followers would inhibit him from collecting an army large and powerful enough to defeat the entirety of the Wizarding world," McGonagall said, trying to reassure the first year students who shivered in fear. "And I believe yes, the war is over."

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded in confirmation. "And we, as members of the Order, have vowed to protect the students of Hogwarts from all forms of threat within the wizarding community. We assure you that as long as we live, we would continue to fight for the lives of our citizens," he declared.

Relief coursed the faces of the students. Everyone was changed by the war. The strong had grown weaker, and the weak had been forced to stay strong. The honest had been led to deceive in order to live. But in the end, all they want was for it to be over.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Ron's eyes were dull. He patted her on the shoulder, fruitlessly trying to console his only remaining best friend. "I know you miss him. We all do."

Hermione had been silent during the entire commotion. She stood in the corner, waiting for the news to come. She prayed and hoped and begged for his survival only to be answered by another riddle: _Where IS Harry Potter?_ She stared across the room, to the place just beyond Ron's face, where she and Harry used to sit after school hours.

"But you don't understand; I loved him. I was in love with him. I still am." The words ebbed from her mouth, devoid of direction and purpose. Tears spilled from her almond shaped eyes.

"Hermione, we all understood. We all knew." He looked away. "Well, maybe except Harry. He never knew. He was too busy battling his demons. He was too busy falling in love with you."

Hermione looked up. _They all knew?_

She looked around her. Everyone jittered with excitement at the thought of the break from school. Some looked relieved that the war is now over. Others stared in the distance, their faces surely identified as one of those who had just lost someone.

Hermione stood up. Grabbing her beaded handbag, she began to cross the room with a determined look on her face.

"Hermione, where are you going," Ron called after her.

"I am not going to sit here and mourn," she said, not bothering to look back. "He's not dead. Not to me."

"And just what do you think you're going to do? We looked for him. A dozen man at the least. He wasn't there. And no one knew where he is…or was."

"If you don't want to go, then don't. You can't just leave your family like this, Ronald. They need you."

"And how do you think you'll find him?"

Hermione spun around to face him. "I don't know." She sounded so defeated. Ron realized that Hermione wasn't just facing the unknown. She was facing her two greatest fears: failure and Harry's death.

"Give me time. I'll follow."

"I'm not going to wait for you. You can search on your own, but I can't waste any of my time. I have no family to go back to; you have yours to grieve with. Every minute that passes by, Harry might be dying. I know you want to do this, but I understand where your priorities lie right now."

"Hermione…"

"Give my condolences to your family." He nodded and felt a lump on his throat. This is the first time he felt like they were all truly separated. Even then, during the war, when they fought separately for their lives, they had been together. But now they take severed paths. He goes to his family. Hermione goes to find Harry. And Harry? Who knows where he's gone to this time.

"Good luck, Hermione." But she was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2: Treading Currents

**Opus Horologium**

**Disclaimer:** All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

**Author's note:** If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me.

primatey:thank you so much for the review ;_; I was thinking she wouldn't say it early enough, but since the deed is done, I don't know how to undo it other than by making her go in denial the moment she sees Harry and in some form they reunite with Ron (though he won't come up as much)

aapril: sdjsjffkdkf OH GOSH I DON'T WANT TO COMPLETELY FILL AN ENTIRE PAGE WITH AN ANSWER, SO I SHALL ***** message you or something but thank you so much and yes this would probably be one of those i-will-make-you-cry-tears-of-blood kinda thing just because i love tragedies. but nonetheless, flawless OTP is flawless.

freefallingup: ohnoes shorley we don't say names here :O

lorelover: awh thank you so much; I shall :)

pawsrule: thank you; never heard that before and I shall :)

**Chapter two: Treading Currents**

Harry heard the pitter-patter of the rain and felt a cooling sensation sweep through his skin. He hadn't known how long he had been lying there, his eyes closed, his body tucked in a ball. His eyes felt heavy with exhaustion. How long has he been sleeping?

_Is this a dream_, Harry thought. He fumbled for his glasses hopelessly. _No, not a dream. _His spectacles were wet and blurry, drenched in the downpour. _I didn't know rain existed in hell._ He wiped the lenses with the only portion of his clothes that remained dry and clean.

Harry looked around him, expecting to catch nothing but darkness. Instead, he was surrounded by houses – dark, looming houses that rose in columns that were so close to each other, the alleys between them could probably fit only one person.

The sky was overcast, darker shades of gray streaking the clouds. The rain was thin but heavy and mud puddles began to form near the sidewalks. Harry looked down on where he was standing. It was stone ground, tattered with cracks and bumps, but ground nonetheless.

How he felt nothing but air last night, he didn't know.

_Maybe this had been reality all along_, Harry thought dreadfully. Maybe everything had been a dream, one complicated, vivid dream. Maybe he hadn't really known them at all; not Hermione, or Ron, or Luna or Neville. Maybe Lord Voldemort was nothing but his greatest fears colliding into flesh. And maybe this is reality. Maybe his life wasn't dedicated to combatting after all.

He got up and started walking idly towards the deserted sidewalk. The place felt eerily uninhabited, like a reserve left only to him. He searched each store for a familiar face, only to find himself looking at a distorted reflection of him in each window. He felt fear settling in, felt the strong pang of realization as it hit him hard in the knees.

He was alone. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't reality either.

This wasn't heaven or hell or whatever Muggles call it. Wizards have no name for this place, for it exists outside their own walls, in a space just beyond their own. It wasn't the in-between, the hidden utopia. It was where oblivion met infinity, where reality collides with fantasy. It was chaos and order, darkness and light. It was exactly where he belongs: in the land that time had forgotten.

He wandered around the 'city', walking fearlessly down every alley. Every once in a while, he'd think he saw something, a flash of black or brown maybe. His heat would flutter and fall, drop and roll. Then he'd turn around and it won't be there. He felt dementia creeping in, madness coursing through his veins. He hasn't eaten or drank or had anything for days, and yet he felt nothing. Exhaustion was out of the question; he could walk for hours end and he would still have the energy to go on.

"Keep your sanity," he told himself. "If there's one thing Voldemort couldn't take away from you, it's that. You can't let him win, not this way."

The clouds began to lighten and the rain soon ceased completely. The streets looked like they've been submerged in a flash flood, rain water running mucky and thick down the drain pipes. He saw smoke coming from one of the houses' chimneys and felt a shiver run down his spine.

He hadn't felt cold until then. He looked down to his clothes and realized he had been walking for longer than he had thought.

He began towards the house, his footsteps falling heavily on the sidewalk. It wasn't a portal, but it was something. _A spark in the dark, is that what they call it?_

Harry climbed up the steps and stared at the door. It was burgundy in colour and the wood seemed sturdy and old. 147-A was engraved on the door. Harry pondered for a while. Would anyone answer the door if he knocked? Did anyone still live here?

His right fist rapped the door. "Hello is anyone there," he called out. "Hello?" After three tries, Harry was willing to give up. If there had been anyone in that house, they didn't want him. He turned his head and gazed at the empty street. _But no one else seems to live here._

Carefully, he turned the knob. He was surprised when he heard the click of a lock. He swung the door open and walked in hesitantly. The air smelled old and musty, like that in an old folk's house. Of course, he would have known that if he had grandparents, but he could only take that this was what old people's houses smelled like.

The hallway was narrow, with only little light coming through the small window beside the door. The blinds were half shut, and Harry felt claustrophobia creep up on him. The walls were covered with dusty floral wallpaper and lined with glass lanterns that seemed to be too outdated to work. Harry felt his way past antique paintings and framed photographs towards the living room.

Beneath him, the floorboards creaked with age. Harry looked around the room, towards the dingy walls and perfectly organized furniture. It did look like someone lived here until recently, all their belongings still in order. A mug was settled on the coffee table, a book left open, bookmarked.

Harry's heart began to beat frantically. Had he just trespassed into someone's home? He looked around, hoping to find any indication as to whose house it was, but the photos revealed nothing about the person. They were old, soft around the edges and creased with time.

Harry heard a low rumble behind him, and then a cough. He felt his heart drop as he turn around. A young man stood behind him, his auburn hair falling into short cascades to his shoulders, he had a sharp look and the gentlest blue eyes. "May I ask you what exactly are you doing in my home at this ungodly hour," the man said.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I just, I couldn't find a place to stay. I just got here." The man nodded, as if Harry had just given him a page long explanation as to why he stood there, in the middle of the living room, with his clothes dripping wet.

"Very well. This place brings in wayward strangers. I cannot offer you protection or food or compassion. I have too much in my hands, but you can stay." Harry felt his pockets for money and the man looked at him through narrowed eyes. "No need for payments. I am not a landlord. Just…try to clean up after yourself. You're ruining my carpet."

Harry felt an overwhelming gratitude towards the man. He may have been distant but there was something about those bright blue eyes that felt familiar to him. "Thank you," he mumbled after him.

"There are clean clothes in the cupboard to your right. Go and dry yourself before you catch a cold."

"Thank you, uh…" Harry felt weary. The man raised a brow and turned towards the stairs.

"Albus. It's Albus Dumbledore. And you are most welcome mister…"

"Potter. Harry Potter." Dumbledore turned to face him and for a second, Harry thought he saw the spark of recognition, a memory coming to life. But that glimpse of something real passed just as quickly as it came and his eyes were once again empty.

"Harry," he said with a tone of finality. "Feel free to stay for as long as you need, long as you don't disrupt me."

Harry nodded and realized that maybe this afterlife wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

><p>Hermione stood in the middle of her room. Hogwarts has been left to the care of restoration workers and she now lived on a muggle hotel, paying for the rent through the little salary she gets from working at the café over the next block.<p>

A purple beaded bag was placed in the center of the tidied bed. Around it were a few blank notebooks, some pens, books, and her basic survival needs. It was exactly how she packed it before, except now it no longer contained Ron and Harry's things. The thought of travelling alone made Hermione's throat close up. Her whole life had been dedicated to going to these missions with the two boys that it was almost impossible to see her doing things on her own.

It scared her, to be honest.

She hadn't had any assurance of his survival. She hadn't had the littlest clue as to where he is. Everyone around him mourned for Harry, lit up candles and dedicated ceremonies in memory of him. To them, he was their lost hero.

But he was never lost to her. He had always been there, beside her. They had stuck together, from the hottest of summers through the coldest of winters. He had held her hand and caught her fall. He had his arms wrap securely around hers. They were two halves of a separate whole, fractured by fear and insecurity. She kept him grounded, kept him sane. She kept him believing that there was something worth fighting for. She stood by him when no one did, stayed when everyone else left. And he in turn, kept her through, kept her going. They balance out, a perfect equation, a harmonious melody.

And that was something that couldn't easily be broken, forgotten.

Hermione took a deep breath and grabbed her bag. She paid the hotel bill and thanked the café owner for letting her in. She left no trace of the Hermione that stayed in that hotel, sobbing and screaming in her sleep. That girl was nothing but a stranger now. She had to be strong.

This wasn't just about Harry now. This was something bigger than the two of them. This was a race against time. Against death. A race she thought she had completed after destroying all the horcruxes.

This was a race that she couldn't lose.


	3. Chapter 3: The Grimy Old House

opus horologium

**Disclaimer:** All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

**Author's note:** If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me. Also, the physical description of 12 Grimmauld's place is not mine so don't sue me.

**Chapter three: The Grimy Old House**

The floorboards creaked and the winds howled against his window. The curtains were embroidered with something that could have once been silky and beautiful. Harry sat on his new bed, trying to understand what exactly has happened to him. It's been approximately three days since he got to the eerie house and he still hadn't had a clue as to what was going on.

Dumbledore never went out of his study, or if he did, Harry never caught him. During the day, he would walk around the streets, unlatching locks and trespassing into different buildings. When darkness bites the sky and the streetlights begin to glow above his head, he would walk home carelessly. Not a car passes by the cracked road. The place was completely still, untouched.

He wanted to ask the young man what was going on. He wanted to shake his fragile-looking shoulders and see the face of the Dumbledore he knew, the man he trusted with his life. But this wasn't the same Dumbledore; this man was a strange man living a strange life in the middle of nowhere. He wasn't powerful; he was insane.

It was now dusk. The sky is painted several shades of orange and pink, purple and yellow, like sour candy melting smoothly around each other. Harry paced his room, cracking his knuckles. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

It wasn't the silence or the emptiness. It wasn't the lack of working clocks or calendars. It was Dumbledore. It was his distance, his quiet way of waving into his life without even knowing it. _Why was he here? Why, on this deserted place, would he choose to live?_

Harry tiptoed towards the door and walked silently towards the young man's room. He didn't know what to expect_. A table filled with books and potion ingredients? A pensieve? A Gryffindor crest posted on the wall?_

The door was ajar and Harry had to squint his eyes to adjust to the light. The room was dimly lit. It was spacious and tidy, with even less furniture than Harry's. Dumbledore sat on the bed, staring out the window. It wasn't a look of curiosity, of pondering, or reminiscing. His eyes were glazed with something far, far worse than loneliness. His eyes remember what his mind dare not think.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what it was exactly that Dumbledore yearned for. His life wasn't perfect, but Harry knew Dumbledore as a brave man, one of the bravest he's known. He's endured more and lasted longer.

But looking at the young man, with sad blue eyes, Harry wondered, _how much of that Dumbledore was real?_

Before Harry had the chance to shift his gaze, Dumbledore turned to face him, a stony expression painted on his face. He walked towards the door and shut it close. Harry jumped from the door and walked back to his room._ Was that what awaits me here? A lifetime of insanity and nostalgia? _

_Without even thinking about it, he ran outside and began running._

His feet were sore and his heels burned with a burning sensation. Sweat clung to his shirt and his breath was ragged. He dropped his hands to his knees, panting. He looked around him and saw the houses from a distance. The hill sloped and swerved, and a thick canopy of leaves hung over his head. The sky had gone black, with tiny specks of bright light peeking through the distant blanket. It could all have been beautiful, like a faraway dream. He reached up and let the cold hit his body.

How long has he been running? His whole life was spent running away from problems, from the Dark Lord, from the Death eaters…from death itself. He was not just a castoff, he was a runaway.

He could have run further down the forest, past the trees that mocked his frail body. He could have chased the wind and let himself go. He could have.

Except he has nowhere to run to now.

Harry turned his heel and began walking back.

Hermione stared up the age-old building, staring at the number twelve as it appears between the two diverging sides. She hadn't known exactly what she wanted to do here. Number twelve Grimmauld Place has been empty ever since the war broke out. The previous members of the Order had proclaimed other forms of hideouts and were now safely tucked in their beds.

But Hermione, engulfed by exhaustion, wanted nothing more than to crawl up the battered stairs and settle in that same couch they slept in when they last came here. When the door swung behind her, Hermione had already been too tired to be frightened by Dumbledore's dust figure. "I did not kill you," she said to the figure calmly, and proceeded towards the drawing room.

_The drawing room had long windows facing the street in front of the house, a large fireplace, and the tapestry of the Black family tree (snippet of 12 Grimmauld Place description from Wikipedia)._

_This room was too big and too quiet without the house elves_, Hermione thought.

She set her bag down on one of the Victorian-style couches. Undressing, she began towards to windows.

_Would you let me find you, Harry? Let me drag you back to this life? _

She turned around and began her incantations, moving her wand around and casting hexes and protection spells all over the place. With each spell, Hermione grew more intent to finding out what happened to her best friend. She was supposed to be there with him, to protect him the way he had always protected her.

Hermione hated herself for being weak, for standing back and letting him go alone. She knew Harry would have said otherwise; he would have told her that she was just doing the right thing to do. But even if it had been what she was expected to do, it wasn't what she wanted to happen.

_I will find you. _

Hermione woke up to the sound of jazz music playing, filling the room with sensual music. She rubbed her head and got up, dropping her book. She had spent the last few hours going through spells and books from the restricted area of the library and she was beginning to lose hope. She didn't find anything that could help her case.

"Oh hello; fancy seeing you here," a voice called out from the shadows.

Hermione got up and quickly had her wand at offensive grip. "Who are you? How did you get here?" Her voice shook despite the ferocity it carried.

The creature emerged from the darkness. It was covered in dirty, torn rags, just as Dobby and Kreacher had been. Hermione's heart sunk at the thought of the house elves. Despite Kreacher's outward disdain towards mudbloods, he has never done anything that put Hermione in the face of imminent harm. And Dobby…

Hermione let the thought drop. She couldn't afford to be distracted when faced with an enemy.

The room was suddenly cold, like it had dropped a few degrees just by the mere entrance of the strange creature. He wasn't an elf, a troll, or any of the monsters Hermione has ever encountered. His body was covered with dried, rotting leaves that carried the undertone of the dead. His eyes were gleaming slits, like a cat's. He was taller than Hermione; and definitely much bigger. When he spoke, his voice boomed in its hollowness.

Hermione felt goose bumps up her arms.

"Do not fear, little wizard. I will not harm you." The creature had its hands up, in the form of surrender. "I have come merely to ask you a question. I am the new caretaker of the house." He reached out his hand for a firm handshake that shocked even Hermione. "My name's Leshy."

He offered her a smile, which Hermione found eerily comforting. "Where's Kreacher?"

"Oh haven't you heard? During the war, they gathered all house elves and began to process their rights. Shacklebolt was appalled by what he found out; or at least that's what I heard. I'm pretty sure he knew the situation."

When Hermione didn't speak, the creature continued talking. "I'm pretty sure your friend is in a safe place right now."

Friend. The word had a ring to it; like this bell of importance, a clear, resounding gong. Hermione looked around. "So you took the job? You took the place of a house elf…but for what?" She narrowed her eyes.

Leshy only smiled at her. "Someone needs to maintain this place. Sirius had been my friend. He was one of my few companions while I dwelled in the woods. No one wanted me there, you see. The humans feared me, the wizards thought of me as nothing more than magical abomination. And my kind? They were revolted by my general compassion for mankind." Hermione heard the catch in the creature's voice. "I wanted to thank him. This is the only way I can. Besides, it's kind of better here."

Hermione nodded then drew her eyebrows close together. "Leshy, how long have you been staying here?"

"During the attack of Hogwarts. I don't remember it clearly. I just know that by then I was too grateful for what they've let me do. The house elves were pushed out. The house was put into lockdown. They wanted to hide Harry here when things got too heated; they put up spells and all that stuff. I was their guard, the bait, the initial distraction. I was supposed to protect Harry Potter. It's funny, right? Me…the useless forest monster is assigned to protect possibly the most important wizard at the time." Something dark flashed in Leshy's eyes. "But he never came."

"Leshy, he came to Voldemort. They still haven't found his body. They're not sure whether he's still…"

"He hasn't come here, if that's what you wanted to know. You were the first wizard to come by for a visit after the war."

"Are you sure? No one apparated or smashed the door down."

"This place is pretty secured, well-guarded by the Order. It's impossible for anyone to apparate here without connections to the Order itself. As for the possibility of Harry being here, I doubt it. I clean every speck of this house," he moved his hands across the room. "And not one space was occupied. Not until you came."

"Oh." Hermione must have looked crest-fallen. Her shoulders drooped and she went back to gather her things.

From a distance, she heard the Leshy's voice. "But…there was a letter."

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes suddenly bright with hope. "It's been left here apparently on the night of your previous stay. It was written by Mr. Potter. I don't know if you would account it as anything since it has nothing to do to help you with the current situation, but I'm assuming you'd want to see it."

Hermione followed the Leshy to one of the dark-panelled rooms. She watched as he gingerly pulled out a dusty envelope from one of the wooden drawers. "I'll leave you alone to read it," he said.

Alone in the confined spaces of the large, empty house, Hermione suddenly felt the urge to curl into a ball and just let the emotions follow through. Instead, she let herself calmly sit down on the reclining sofa and unfold letter as though she was merely skimming the daily newspaper.

The words tangle with one another, jumbled in messy scripts and ink scratches. The paper was torn in several edges and smudges were left all over the place. Clearly, it wasn't a letter done with great precision. It was a letter written in a rush of adrenaline.

It was a note of goodbye. A suicide note.

Hermione clutched the dusty parchment tighter, trying to let the words seep through. _When did Harry decide to write this? Why leave it here in the first place?_ She began to picture Harry, his hair in wild tousles. She imagined him sitting on that desk on the upstairs bedroom, his face a mask of pure concentration.

She imagined those fierce green eyes peering at them from the behind closed doors, searching their faces, saying goodbyes…she imagined those eyes staring blankly into space, lifeless.

And that's when she realized she couldn't imagine anymore. _Don't come looking for me, _Harry wrote on his letter. _Don't come looking for me no matter what. Don't put yourself in danger. I've dragged you with me for too long. It's time we stop and just accept things as they are._

Hermione stuffed the letter inside her pocket. She had been too stubborn to listen to Harry on various accounts then and she wouldn't listen to him now.

"Goodbye, Leshy." Hermione managed to smile faintly.

The jungle of buildings and streets stretched out in front of Hermione. She took out an empty notebook and began writing.

_May 7, 1998_

_12 Grimmauld Place. Grim, old, place. The Grimy old House. Where are you Harry Potter? Are you within the confines of a house – a home? __I am writing to remember. I am writing because I'm afraid that one day my brain will just give in, just like my knees have. It's been five days after the battle. Five days of silence and reparation, of healing and mourning. I've had five days with me, but I still don't have you. I've met Leshy; I've read the letter. And I am moving. Not 'on' but 'onwards'. I am not moving on with my life; it's not as easy as you hoped it would be. But I am moving onwards, defining the rules. I am finding you even if you refused to be found. _

_12 Grimmauld Place. 12 grim old places…I will search every single one of them. _


	4. Chapter 4: The Lone Stranger

**Opus Horologium**

**Disclaimer:** All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

**Author's note:** If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me. Also, the physical description of 12 Grimmauld's place is not mine so don't sue me.

zummm: Thank you, I'll try to. :)

aapril: yeyeye I'm just putting the angst out there like it's candy or something. Well, poisoned candy since it's insanely dramatic.

pawsrule: Thank you :)

freefallingup: IT'S MASON, MASON OKAY. MY GUY COUNTERPART IS MASON, like from WOWP. And..what math?

AllWasWell07: oh deer lord, thank you. :3

aapril: yay criticisms! Oh I was planning Leshy to be some sort of secret experimental mutation of some sort, like an undiscovered breed of creature but I guess I forgot to write that down. He was just a minor character though, so I guess I didn't pay much attention, and herpderp there's a reason why it goes that way (converging narrative), you'll see ;)

beege: thank you, and I do plan too : 3

**Chapter 4: The Lone Stranger**

"Back so soon, Mr. Potter," a voice called the moment Harry closed the door behind him.

"I was just going out for a walk," Harry explained, trying to keep his eyes away from the young man. He sat languidly on one of the dusty, Victorian chairs, his eyes shut.

"It didn't seem like it." Dumbledore opened his eyes and looked past Harry. "There's no getting out. I know you want to, but there's nowhere to go. Delphi has gotten you."

"Delphi? Isn't that somewhere in India?"

The man chuckled loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. "No. This is Delphi, the unknown center of the Earth." Harry couldn't tell whether he was lying or he was simply deranged.

"I'm going upstairs," Harry said. He didn't seem comfortable seeing Dumbledore this way. It was like invading his privacy, seeing his life before he became the great wizard everyone knew.

"I don't know," Dumbledore mumbled, his words catching Harry in mid-step. "If you're wondering how I got here, I don't know either. I don't know a lot, you see. There was never life before this time, this place, this state. Each day I have to remember what happened the day before; I have to write it down. This place chews up your memory; it feeds on the flesh of your desolation. I'm afraid there's no escape."

His words were flat, but the man's eyes, distant and haunted, say it all. This wasn't heaven or hell or whatever it was they believed the afterlife should be. It was beyond man's imagination. It was Delphi, the unearthed memory, the blurred edges of a faded past, the center of a non-existent universe.

Harry turned to the young man. "Have you forgotten about it…being a wizard? Have you forgotten about magic?"

"Mr. Potter, there's no such thing as magic. It's all in your head."

"But you said…" the man looked at him, his eyes searching Harry's. Of course, Dumbledore never could have said all those things, not in this time line.

"If I knew a great deal about wizardry, don't you think I would have been away from here by now?"

"But…"

Dumbledore turned away from him, his back slouching towards the glass coffee table. Harry got up a couple of flights and tried to peer over the young man's shoulder.

Dumbledore was hunched over a photograph of two young men, one of which Harry recognized was the young man he dwells with now. He stood beside another young man with light hair striking eyes. Dumbledore had looked bright and cheerful then, especially beside the gloomy, foreboding boy cladded in black clothing. The photograph, Harry noticed, didn't move, not like the ones in Hogwarts. They were still photos, like the ones Muggles stored.

_I wonder how that feels like, to be frozen in time, to never know what could have been._

Hermione. Every thought of her sent a wrenching drop on his stomach. Images reeled inside his head of the time Hermione first showed him the time turner. She was cut in several places, her hair a tangle of bushy wisdom. But she had been brave, quick witted, just as always. She played with time and danced with danger. It was the first time Harry saw her more than just a 'sister', a companion, a helping hand.

Harry remembered his arms wrapped tightly around her, his eyes searching for hers in the dark. He remembered the beat of her heart, fast like the beating of a hummingbird's wings.

And that was enough for now. _He remembered._

_The wind howled. The oceans roared. The ground trembled. _

_Hermione stood on top of a steep rock, her mouth sealed with tape and her hands tied behind her back. She was on top of a tall cliff overlooking an ocean of floating graves. To her side was a dagger and to her left was a key. "Why leave me a key," she thought as she carefully edged towards the dagger. Her knees shook and she tried not to look down. The smell of rotting bodies rose from the bottom of the cliff._

_Hermione bent down and felt for the dagger. Her hands scraped the rocky soil. She walked further back and grasped the handle of the dagger with her hand._

_Pain shot up her arm from her palms. She felt the sickening crunch of her bones as someone stomped on them with what felt like metal shoes. She tried to scream, but no sound came out of her tightly sealed mouth. _

_Hot tears began to pour from her eyes. Stop, she wanted to scream. _

_She fought against the pain, flailing her body around like a rag doll. She lost her balance a couple of times before she was able to free herself. She whipped her head back; her eyes instantly shot wide with shock. _

_Harry stood in front of her, his hair slicked back, his scar gone. He wore a dark trench coat and sophisticated clothing that Hermione could only compared to sophisticated pre-world war I London apparel. _

_Where his eyes used to be were two red slits, like that of a snake. A mischievous grin spread across his face._

"_Hello, sweetie. Missed me?"_

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. "It was only a dream, only a dream," she reminded herself.

She got up and looked around her. The tent was well set-up but empty. The stack of books of the table laid opened, untouched. She had been up all night, going over books, maps, and journals waiting to be filled. She found herself in the middle of the woods, the same ones that they had camped on for months during their search for the horcruxes. It may have been her imagination, but she could still see the traces left of their stay – the ashen ground wherein their fire was built, the deep holes on the soft soil.

Hermione crossed the room and walked outside. The air was crisp, the smell of wet leaves and mildew hanging lightly in the air. She stood underneath the shade of towering trees.

_We had been here, in this exact same place. I had held your hand. I had walked with you in the dark. I had listened to you mumble names in your sleep_. Hermione began recalling each memory, searching for a clue, any clue at all, to help her find her way. She walked faster, trying to keep the train of thought going. Harry had been thinking of the horcruxes. He had been wrapped by guilt. His parents were dead. Sirius was dead. Dumbledore had just died. He was leaving behind his life – saying goodbye to the Dursleys, to everything about his childhood. He left Hogwarts on his final year, sacrificing his life endlessly to conquer Voldemort. He came here for a mission, and yet he found something else. In this forest, he found his best friend's greatest insecurity. In this forest, he had listened to the names of the people being arrested, murdered, and hunted down like rabid dogs. This forest was one of the many places they stayed in during their search.

Hermione felt the crunch of leaves underneath her feet. He had been here. _He had come to this place as refuge. He might be here now._ Pain radiated from the soles of her foot. Her arms were sore. She was running now. The trees blurred and her eyes begin to catch the little details. The forest was wide, an endless expanse of fir trees and low shrubs. The soil was soft and moist, covered with fallen leaves. The place had been uninhabited for a long time.

"Harry," she called out. "Harry Potter! Come right out this instant!" She could hear the desperation in her voice. She kept running, her feet carefully dodging the roots that stuck out of the ground. She could no longer see the tent behind her. "Harry."

There was an indistinguishable howl. Hermione whipped her head around, her foot caught in the tangle of roots. She fell facedown with a dull thud. "Ow." She felt her head for any injuries and found none. Her arms were, however, lined with shallow cuts that oozed red. She quickly grabbed her scarf and began fixing her injuries.

She sat there, passing time. From the corner of her eye, she could see the lone wolf that stood on the other side of the forest. Its black fur reminded her of Lupin. The wolf watched her with cold, blue eyes and then walked away. And that's when Hermione wondered just how much that wolf saw.

The sun was high when Hermione decided to stand up; she hasn't been that immobile for a long time. There was always something to do; perhaps a book to read, a mission to complete, a dragon to conquer or homework to finish. As she began walking towards the tent she heard it again- the low howl of the lone wolf in midday.

_It felt nice to have company, though I know he could skin me alive in any minute_. The thought made her smile; it was something Harry would say.

Darkness bit the night sky and the stars began to appear. Hermione set up a fire in front of the tent and listened to the noises of the forest. Somehow each hoot, each howl, each crackling of leaves and flapping of wings made her feel less isolated.

Along the shadows, the lone wolf stood, his eyes pleading to be recognized. The wolf edged closer to Hermione, his paws barely making a sound as he moved out of the shadows. Hermione gasped at the sight of the wolf, but she didn't seem to back away. She shivered in fear, but she remains firmly seated.

"Luna told me that animals could understand people, whether they're the kind we see in the forest or the type that they keep in Hogwarts," Hermione explained. "She told me that they see everything, that they're just silent because they don't want to attract unlikely attention. They prefer being left alone."

Hermione reached her hand out to the wolf. "Is that what you are? Are you alone too?" In response, the wolf pressed its head gingerly on her palm. "I know this is stupid but have you seen a boy? His name is Harry Potter." Hermione began to chuckle – a soft, lifeless chuckle.

"Oh right, of course, even if you saw him, you wouldn't know that, would you?" The wolf looked up, meeting the girl's sad brown eyes. "I'm kind of desperate right now, you see. I still haven't found him. And honestly, I'm scared for him. I could go on searching but what good is it if he's completely gone."

_But you haven't begun piecing the clues together_, the wolf's eyes begged. _You haven't even seen the man underneath these layers. _ Hermione petted the top of the wolf's head, thanking him for the company.

"I better go catch up on some sleep," Hermione said as she rose. She looked down on the lone wolf and her eyes sparked with slight recognition. It was like seeing someone from a book and then seeing them in person, the image is grainy, imperfect, but somehow it matches up perfectly. _You shouldn't thank me. You shouldn't even accept me. I killed people, people like you. I loathed your kind._

She turned her back and walked inside the tent. _But you'll need me. To find him, you only have me._

_May 8, 1998_

_The forest is empty as it used to be – another place to cross off. I would stay here if I could. It's peaceful and beautiful; like a sanctuary where nothing can touch you, hurt you, harm you. But again, it is another day of no clue as to where Harry is. And again, I met something…or rather someone. This will sound crazy but it's almost as if that wolf had been someone I knew. Like Lupin or Sirius. His eyes were familiar, but I don't know from where. They say that happens though, that sometimes, you meet millions of people in your life and you don't remember them until you're all alone and bits and pieces of those people form inside your head and is transmitted to the most human-like presence around. I would want to think it was someone I knew, but there's no use doing that now. I am bound to leave this place by tomorrow. I have 10 more places to travel and tomorrow I take on the valley underneath the bridge. _

Hermione woke up to the wolf licking her palm, saliva drooping from its long, slobbery tongue. "I see I have made a new friend," Hermione mumbled as she stumbled out of her make-shift bed.

The wolf trotted excitedly in front of her; it looked like a little puppy anxious to show his master the new tricks he's learned. Hermione smiled inwardly. "Okay, okay, I'm coming."

The wolf led her to the table that was scattered with books. "What is it, boy," she asked. The wolf hopped to the bench in front of the table and began nudging one of Hermione's journals.

Hermione gingerly grabbed the journal from underneath the wolf's palm. Her eyes shot wide. On the bottom of the page was an entry completely different from Hermione's writing. There were ink splotches all over the white blank page, but the words were still legible enough to read.

_(This entry is written for future reference; perhaps it would prove useful once the war is over. This entry is for my dear friend, Hermione Granger. I am sorry for violating the privacy your (empty) journal, but this is historical detail and you should feel honored to have firsthand possession of it.)_

_Voldemort came to him that night, his eyes mad with fury. He was searching for something. He was screaming at the old man. He demanded something the old man refused to give. Voldemort was infuriated. The old man showed no fear; he taunted Voldemort, threw his head back and laughed. "You can never be any better than I am, the man had said. You can never overpower me. I win. I will always win." And with that, Voldemort used the Killing Curse. The man in the cell died – I saw his body fall towards the cold cement. But he was right; Voldemort could never defeat him, for he had known something Voldemort hasn't…for he has long defeated death. He has found the perfect hiding place._

_Harry Potter_

Hermione looked at the wolf. "How…"

The wolf turned away from her and turned towards the woods.


	5. Chapter 5: A Silent Regard for Numbers

**opus horologium**

**Disclaimer:** All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

**Author's note:** If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me. Also, the physical description of 12 Grimmauld's place is not mine so don't sue me.

dbzgtfan2004, pawsrule, AllWasWell07- Thank you and I am trying to write as much as I could with the limited computer time that I have (oh living with parents)

kidderz90- I don't know whether that mystery is a good thing but I hope it is; I want to make it like one of those stories where you have to make a bunch of crazy theories just to figure out what's really happening; don't worry I got the plot line all figured out (for once) so it will all make sense in the end; as for the page breaks, I keep forgetting to add that in, so thank you for that reminder.

jaybunzy0- Thank you, and as for the characters, they will go through a lot of confusion with their emotions and such once the new characters get introduced, so whatever Hermione admitted in the beginning will be put to the test (spoilers!) But just to clarify, Leshy is some sort of secret experimental mutation of some sort, like an undiscovered breed of creature

**Chapter 5: A Silent Regard for Numbers**

Harry awoke with a start. He could hear the sound of pans and plates clanging, slipping against each other. He could hear the sound of maniacal laughter and choked tears. It was chaos and order all melded together in a tiny space of this forgotten place. Slowly, he got up and put on his glasses. The room was a mess, with piles of paper and clothes scattered all over the floor. Harry could see the old, floral wallpaper chipping off from the wood.

Avoiding broken pieces of glass, Harry crossed the room.

The first thing Harry noticed was the pool of red liquid on below the staircase. His heart thudded. As poor of a company the young man had been, Dumbledore was all he had. He couldn't afford losing him again.

Harry ran down the stairs, almost falling. His feet caught in the dent of broken wood and he scrunched his faced in agony. I string of profanity slipped from his mouth.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, foolish boy," a gentle voice called from the other side of the hall. Harry felt his whole body melt into a puddle of relief. "I throw myself an enlightenment party and what do you do?"

From the shadows emerged the young man. He wore the same worn-out robes. His hair was still unmanageable. But there was something about the young man that caught Harry's attention. He was smiling a smile that extended to his eyes. He didn't strain his grin and that's when Harry saw the Dumbledore he knew, the man whose eyes glinted with genuine happiness.

_My shock must have shown_, thought Harry as the man begun, "Oh relax! I haven't gotten myself drunk on hard liquor or anything. I have simply begun untangling my life. And you, Mr. Potter…" Harry felt his breath lodge at his throat. Had he remembered Harry after all? "You will be my first accomplice."

"Sir, I am the only person you are left with. I don't think you have a choice."

"Don't back-sass with me, young man! I have more knowledge than you, and I could choose to not even share it at all." Harry would have thought the man loathed him if he hadn't seen the smile still playing on the corners of his mouth.

"You're not much older than me, you know," Harry said as he sank down on the dusty, old couch. Dumbledore sat across him, admiring the mess.

"Not physically." The young man eyed a lock on the table. "I'm afraid my time is running out. I am aging quicker inside my head. I am beginning to remember."

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "Remember?" The word launched a missile of hope inside him.

"Yes. I'm afraid I've seen your face before – not long ago – but I'm sure I have not met you until you came barging into my house. But that's not what I rejoice for. I remembered him."

Harry searched his minds for who Dumbledore could have meant by _him_. Was it Voldemort? His father? The young Dumbledore crossed the room and held up an identical copy of the photo Harry saw him holding in his room. _Oh, he meant Grindelwald._

"He was my best friend; the only real mate I ever had. He knew me more than anyone ever did. And as different as we were from each other, we were like to sides of the same coin. We had opposing opinions, warring houses. I loathed his ambitions; he sneered at my pride. When he came into power, I swore to myself I would hate him. I would defeat him. We dreamed to rule the world together and when he left me for his own dreams, I vowed to never again see him as a friend." The young man spoke in a calm, gentle tone. But his eyes betrayed everything.

Tears coursed Dumbledore's cheeks as he spoke. "But in the end, I still couldn't do it. I defeated him, but I still felt like I was the one who lost. I lost my best friend. I lost the only person in the world who could make me happy, who completed me. And so I didn't kill him. I could have, but I didn't. I loved him far too much to watch him die in my hands."

Harry didn't have to hear the rest. Hermione babbled on endlessly about Grindelwald during those cold winters they spent alone in the forest together.

After Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, Dumbledore came into possession of the elder wand. As for Grindelwald, he was sent to Nurmengard where he was imprisoned. It was also there that Voldemort came to him in search of the elder wand; it was where he died mocking the Dark Lord.

Harry wondered how Dumbledore would have reacted knowing that despite his efforts, his best friend had been killed anyway.

Harry looked at the young man, with tears streaming down his face. "Albus…" the words seemed eerily distant. "That's enough. We'll find him."

The man turned to Harry, his eyes sullen. "I already have." Dumbledore ran up the stairs with Harry trailing behind him. He turned the knob to his door and walked towards a corner of the room. It was, Harry remembered, the side that was obscured from his previous point of view.

On that side of the room stood a huge drawing cabinet that spilled out used clothing, jewelry and papers. Harry watched as Dumbledore walked towards a murky looking object hung on the wall.

The young man wiped the object with his sleeve and that's when Harry saw what it was – a mirror.

It was the same mirror Aberforth had in his house. Dumbledore moved towards Harry.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

* * *

><p>Hermione felt the edge of sharp rocks scrape her palm. The air was wild with diffused electricity, waiting to strike. She panted heavily. Below her, she could see the waves crashing against the towering boulders, threatening and foreboding. The sky was gray, overcast. The passing storm was on its verge of hitting the island.<p>

Hermione looked up and found her new accomplice on high ground. The wolf seemed to have a smug look on its face. Hermione scowled at the wolf and continued climbing. "You had to drag me down to a place that repels magic, don't you, Harry Potter," she cursed at the wind.

With one final push, she reached the top of the boulder. Looking across her, she could see the endless horizon, dark and gloomy. She stood atop a tall cliff set in the middle of a stormy island. To her left was the fortress of Nurmengard; to her right was the wolf she called Elder.

"The Nurmengard, home to the famous, and recently deceased Gellert Grindelwald, the second greatest Dark Wizard of all time. Similar to Azkaban, it is believed to once have a guard population that has been eradicated to the needless human presence. Most protective enchantments placed on the prison remain to be unknown; however it is known to have Anti-Apparition wards similar to that of Hogwarts. The Nurmengard has, after the death of its only remaining prisoner, been disbanded by the Order. Inside its walls, they found the rotting corpse of whom they believed to be Grindelwald." Hermione recited to words as if out of a text book. The wolf only shook its head.

"We can't trace Harry the moment we enter the fortress. It doesn't have a map to guide us and tell us where we are. It is said be designed like a maze within a maze, an endless labyrinth of prison cells. We could spend days looking for him; not all the jinxes and hexes has been lifted off the fortress so it will be very tricky." Hermione heaved a sigh. "But if Harry found refuge in this place, it is possible that he hasn't left. We better get started." The wolf didn't look back at her; instead, it walked towards a low shrub, its leaves bare and covered with age old lichen. Hermione was curious as to the route the wolf decided to take so she decided to follow it.

The wolf stood on the edge of the shrubs, eyes transfixed on something beyond the gray tangles. Hermione peered over the wolf's body and saw what the wolf had been staring at. It was a long flight of stairs that descended towards a secret passage towards the fortress. It was heavily obscured by the bushes and the sharp rocks that if it was seen from a completely different angle, no one would have seen it at all.

The wolf turned its head and urged Hermione to follow. Before Hermione could nod, the wolf swiftly began sprinting and jumping, the branches of the shrubs barely touching the wolf's shiny black fur. Hermione went after him, more carefully and with less success. Her coat got caught in various places and she felt sharp branches protruding her skin.

After what felt like hours passing the shrubs, Hermione found herself in the middle of an old, dusty cobblestone path. She was covered with shallow cuts and her hair was a mess of all sorts but she was able to get out in once piece. "Lead the way, Elder," she said with a smile.

The wolf trotted towards the fortress, its tail wagging excitedly behind him. _He must have known this place. He must have seen the guards drag Grindelwald into his cell. He must have been there, the ever present witness to the secrets of the Wizarding World, always hearing, always seeing, but never seen._

Elder went around in circles at the end of the path; from where Hermione stood, he almost seemed human, with his actions and his wise, old eyes. "What is it," she asked as she drew closer to the door.

For a moment Hermione expected the door to be locked, sealed in shut with an enchantment or something they could not break. She expected it to be tricky, to have no locks, no keyhole, nothing to let them go through.

But she did not expect to see the door ajar.

Elder and Hermione exchanged a knowing glance. "You think he knows about this place? You think he got to it before we did?" _There's only one way to find out._

With a creak, Hermione gently opened the door and pushed herself in. The inside of the fortress smelled musty, almost ancient. Rot and decay sifted through the air like a breeze. It was pitch dark except for the torch that Hermione managed to light before entering the fortress.

Hermione felt her way around, constantly backing away from cobwebs and dried bones. She heard the scurrying of rats, the squawking of a bird in flight. She felt Elder's wolf brush against her left hand and somehow found comfort in his company. Hermione lifted her torch.

"There's a flight of stairs that lead up to what I believe was the prison cell of Gellert Grindelwald. It is the only part of the fortress that was indicated on the news. No matter how much you go around, you can't reach the top without reaching Grindelwald's prison. It is said to be marked by scratches and carvings: the traces of a madman counting his days," Hermione said.

Together, they bounded up the stairs for what felt like hours. Hermione's feet were sore, and her arms ached from carrying the torch all day. Her eyes were barely able to strain the darkness that enveloped her. The wolf made no sound throughout the entire climb; if it was tired, Hermione couldn't tell.

Finally, she they reached the top of the staircase. Hermione drew in a deep breath. _This is it._

She walked along a narrow hallway, barely keeping her excitement. She quickened her pace until she reached a metal door. The hinges were unlocked, perhaps broken. The stench of death lingered inside the room. Light shone from a lone window unreachably high above the wall. From the bars, Hermione could see the full moon striking brightly against the dark night sky.

Her first instinct was to feel around for Harry, to let her hand wander until they find another set of human hands. But instead, she chose to call for him.

"Harry," she whispered. She brought the torch up, illuminating the entire room.

She found herself staring at an empty cell, devoid of any bones or cobwebs. "There's nothing," she said as she walked towards Elder. The wolf blocked her way. "Elder, move; there's nothing here. We should start searching other quarters. If ever Harry stayed here, he's gone now." But the wolf only stared past her.

Hermione turned around, her eyes widening.

Written across the wall, in red, were the words Interficiam iterum. "I will kill again," Hermione murmured. She could feel the dread rising up her chest, her stomach falling into ruins.

Hermione spun. "Elder…"

But the wolf was no longer there.


	6. Chapter 6: The Accomplice

**opus horologium**

**Disclaimer:** All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

**Author's note:** If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me.

**Chapter 6: The Accomplice**

Harry nodded, feeling a lump lodging in his throat. The young man's eyes were once again glazed, distant and cold. He felt sorry for him, reaching for something that's no longer there, yearning for a memory that simply can't be held anymore.

The young man pushed past him, quickly returning to his seat. He drew out an old piece of parchment from the edge of the sofa and hunched towards the table. "What are you doing," asked Harry. The young man's hand moved furiously across the parchment, scribbling words at an impossible speed. His head was bent downward, focused. Harry would have thought Dumbledore had gone insane if he hadn't seen the splotches of water on the paper.

Tears.

"Albus," Harry called, snapping his fingers. "Albus, stop. What are you doing?"

Dumbledore seemed to have forgotten all about Harry. He muttered words underneath his breath, low and grumbling. Harry watched him, unsure of what to do or how to respond to the young man's mood swings. Just as Harry was about to give up and run back to his room, he heard the sound of ripping paper. Dumbledore growled.

"You don't know anything," Dumbledore yelled, flinging the roll of parchment towards Harry. "Look at you, you snivelling little coward. You get stuck here and you act like it's a day to day vacation. You don't even try. You know there's a way out and you don't even do anything to help your situation."

Harry felt his face burn with anger. "How dare you judge me when it's you, it's you who mopes all day in your room and acts like a lunatic. At least I'm not some creepy boy who's so obsessed with the past that I ponder on it day after day. So what if there's a way out? How do you expect me to figure it out when you can't? You think this is easy for me? It's not. All I'm trying to do is to be the best flatmate you can have for the time being. So I'm sorry for not being such a pain in the ass!"

The young man looked incredulous. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide open. Harry thought he looked humorous if the situation had been different.

Harry looked at the parchment in his hands. "It's a map," Dumbledore grumbled. "It seems useless but then again, I'm not the sharpest man. Maybe you could figure it out." Harry unrolled the parchment carefully. It was the Marauder's map, torn and frayed around the edges, but intact nonetheless.

"Where did you find this," Harry asked.

"This place, this town, whatever it is. It's the spitting distortion of our realities. That map doesn't belong to me, so I'm guessing it's part of yours. I found it several houses over."

"You were out?"

"I'm more outgoing than you know, Mr. Potter. My whereabouts, however, are none of your business."

Harry touched the parchment, settling on the floor. The wood creaked with every motion. "You think it's real," Harry asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

"What reason do I have to believe it isn't? If it's the only hope there is, why would I tell myself it's a lie?" The young man stood wearily. He seemed to have aged significantly. His eyes lost the glimmer it held just moments ago and Harry couldn't help but blame himself for it. "I know why I am here, Mr. Potter. I am dead."

Harry felt his throat constrict at the word. _Dead._ Is that what he has been all along? And how did Dumbledore know about his own death? Has he seen proof of it? Was it imprinted as a memory? Did he find something else that belongs to Harry, something that could have triggered the idea? What was the map doing in this dimension?

Who activated it?

The room holds too many unanswered question, none of which Harry knew the answer to. Harry let out an exasperated sigh and looked down on the map again.

_There's Ron_, Harry thought bitterly_. And Luna, and Neville, and Ginny._ _Oh it seems like DA meeting! What are they talking about this time? _The footprints formed a circle in the middle of the Great Hall. The place was eerily empty. _Probably still under reconstruction._

The footsteps remained in a circle for a long time. When the footsteps began to disperse, Harry's eyes were already tired. Barely any time passed, but after all that happened this morning, Harry was exhausted. Not physically but mentally.

Harry looked at the map again. Ron and Ginny walked towards the Gryffindor common room. Luna walked in circles, stopping every once in a while. Neville was crossing the expanse of the courtyard, probably taking the long route towards the greenhouses located below the two main Bell Towers.

He felt a certain loneliness looking at the map, at the foot prints made by his friends. And then he noticed something. Hermione isn't with them. Harry couldn't help but wonder why. Hermione never missed a DA meeting, even the ones that aren't so significant. She had always been present.

_She's out there. She's looking for me_, Harry thought.

He stood abruptly. He gathered the map in his hands and stuffed them inside his pocket. "I'm going out, Albus," he called up the stairs. There was no reply. "I think there's still time to buy. I will find the way out of here. She needs me."

* * *

><p>Hermione's mind spins blindly in panic. Her heart beats frantically inside her chest. The cell was empty, enveloped by darkness. Where Elder stood moments ago, there was now only empty space. Hermione could hear the wind howling just beyond the quarters.<p>

But other than that, the place was completely quiet. Hermione drew a deep breath, forcing down the fear that crept underneath her skin. She reached for the wand tucked safely in one of her boots and pointed it forward. "Show yourself," she screamed, her voice quivering. "I know you're out there."

A faint snicker echoed from a distance. Hermione felt the hair in her arms rise. The laughter wasn't from someone she recognized. It was low and menacing. "There's no point hiding. You'll have to face me sooner or later," she tried again, firmer this time. She spun around, wand outstretched.

"Alright, you got me," the voice said in a detached tone.

Calculations ran inside Hermione's head. The direction of the voice, the approximate distance. She made mental observations of the hidden enemy. His voice was low and gravelly. The words seemed to have echoed north, at a close range. It wasn't a shout, but his voice was amplified by the closed space in which they both stood.

Hermione heard the sound of footsteps scratching wood. _The empty desk._ Hermione could picture the man now, his feet dangling from the empty desk at the end of the hall. Then she heard a thud, the sound of falling. The man landed on his feet. Hermione noted the sound was barely audible. The man didn't carry much weight or impact. Hermione stopped short of her track. Whoever this man is, he was confident and precise. His foot hold was light, but his steps were just as calculated as hers. He was careful. And a careful man is a dangerous man; a careful man thinks.

Hermione heard the sound of approaching footsteps and swallowed hard. "My, my, Ms. Granger. You seem to have forgotten, have you? This place doesn't offer any protection of magic. This place disarms magical equipment, renders them useless," the voice mocked.

He's closer, Hermione thought. And he's smart. Hermione could see the outline of the man now. The man was tall and thin, his clothes hanging loosely from his limbs. His head took an angular shape, highlighted with a sharp jaw and a knifelike profile. By the way he stood, he seemed to be limping. The man walked with a regal posture. From what she can see, his hands were empty.

But then again, there were other ways of inflicting pain. He could choke her to death. He could push her down the flight of stairs or simply just twist her neck. Brute force is just as deadly as curses and hexes.

The man stopped a short distance away from her. He must have seen the hilt of the dagger that Hermione gripped with her free hand. He quickly turned his heel and ran.

Hermione chased the man down the flight of stairs, tucking the wand inside her boots. They were no use now. The dagger was what she needed. The man was agile. His footsteps were light and Hermione fought to keep up with him. The man ran around a web of crevasses and prison cells, following some labyrinth Hermione was unaware of. Metal rattled. Rats skittered. The man kept running.

At the final corner, he turned and Hermione couldn't help but smile decisively. _The tunnel of cells ends here._ She has him cornered. She held the hilt of the dagger close to her chest, preparing herself for an attack. She then took a deep breath and followed him into the dark.

Suddenly the figure leapt at her, hands clamping her mouth. "Hold still if you want to live." It was the same man, with the same gravelly voice. But this time, there was something in it that stopped Hermione from flinching at his grasp. He sounded urgent.

With one hand still clamped at her mouth, the stranger dragged Hermione down an unknown extension of the hall, his other arm trapping Hermione. Hermione heard the click of a door being closed. The man took his hand away from her mouth and pushed her away from him. She stumbled forward, hitting her head against the dirty floor. Hermione felt warm blood trickle down her forehead. Her body seared with pain. She had scraped her elbows and knees on the landing.

"Filthy mudblood," he muttered, brushing his clothes.

Hermione flailed, trying to sit up, but agonizing pain shot from her head down to her neck and forced her back against the cold floor, gasping. She tries to look up at the man, but her vision is blurred by blood. "Who are you," she asked hoarsely.

The man ripped some clothes that hung behind him and threw them at Hermione. "You've met me already," he said as he sat against the wall opposite Hermione's. "You just didn't realize because you're a naïve little girl. You are reckless and stupid for coming to his quarters, you know."

Hermione watched as the man pushed himself away from the wall. He started pacing the room, his head hands pressed together underneath his chin. "I don't trust you," Hermione spat. The man turned and raised an eyebrow. That was when Hermione first saw a glimpse of him.

In semi-darkness, shadows played across his face, light distorting his features. But the moment his eyes flicked in her general direction, she saw something that captured her attention. A scar runs down his face, just like Bill's and Lupin's. He was really old. Folds of wrinkles marked the skin around the scar. He had sharp cheekbones and sparse hair. He was, as she had expected, tall and thin. "You don't have to trust me," he said. "I could push you back out there and leave you to your fate. You don't have to stay here with me. Feel free to leave as you wish."

Hermione glared at him. What did the man want? Was he an accomplice of Voldemort? Did he write the message on the wall? With whose blood? Was the message meant for her or for someone else?

She wanted to ask the man so much but instead she busied herself with attending to her injuries. The man made no attempt of trying to help her. _Filthy mudblood_. The words ricocheted inside her head. Of course, he was a pureblood, one of the older lines of wizards that despised muggles.

"You say you don't trust me and yet here you are. You've made no attempt to reach for your dagger and kill me. You don't even try to escape. You really are a pathetic little mublood," the man said in disgust.

"I'm not stupid. I couldn't possibly fight and survive with injuries like these to hold me back. I still don't trust you but then again when was the last time I actually trusted anyone?" Hermione heard the venom in her voice and raised her chin.

"The wolf. You trusted that old mutt didn't you?" The mention of Elder brought Hermione's full attention. She hadn't thought of Elder the moment she started chasing the man. Hermione began to worry. The wolf may have been just another forest animal, but she owed him so much. He was her only company, her only friend. And now he's gone.

"You killed him," Hermione accused. "You killed him and you're going to do the same to me. You are a low-down, evil psychopath and I have no respect for you at all."

The old man smiled at her, shaking his head. "Such heavy accusations from a girl with such intellect." His tone was suddenly grave. "I did not kill him. I have no interest in such mundane deaths. Someone else out there is out to get you. He must have taken the wolf to scare you off. I don't know. But let me tell you this: whatever you think of me, I'm not the enemy here. I don't care for your death ride; I am simply here for the show. Sooner or later, they will attack again. And they will be merciless."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Who's 'they'?"

The man leaned back and closed his eyes. His skin was pallid, his lips cracked. He looked dead. The old man stayed like that for a while, and Hermione thought he must have fallen asleep. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "The first Death Eaters, the old bloods."

Hermione felt a prick of panic surge across her body, every nerve ending coming alive. The old bloods were never mentioned in textbooks. Hermione read about them during one of her rare daredevil trips to the restricted section of the library. They were a circle of purebloods that were believed to be the first wizards. They had disappeared from genealogy long ago, when a new string of wizards arose. They were the ancient practitioners of Dark Magic, the most notorious killers.

"What do you think they wanted with Grindelwald," Hermione asked.

"It's not a question of what they wanted with him, but whether it is him that he wanted."

"What do you mean?"

The old man looked at Hermione. "How much do you know yourself, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione shook her head. The old man was crazy. He had been saying things that couldn't possibly be true. "The old world is in search of their heir, the last living counter descendant."

"And you think it's me? You are raving mad."

The old man lied down, pressing a hand to his side. "You've questioned everything else around you and yet you've never questioned yourself. How interesting!"

Hermione was desperate for a change of topic. She felt sick at the thought of belonging to an old line of wizards. "Who are you," she asked.

The old man's eyes began to droop and his limbs began to relax. But at the last moment of consciousness, the old man managed to mutter something underneath his breath.

"Call me Eldest."

**(More A/N):**

beege- It's at its early stages and I tend to leave out a lot of things so as not to provide spoilers or something but thank you for trying to understand and keep updated

Cutterpillow- Thank you. I will be putting more and more cliffhangers as the new characters arise so hopefully not too many will be irked.

pawsrule- ...and they're slowly being answered. Sorry it took me a while to update.

Bloodfire87- he's actually kind of like that character that I both hate and love and cherish; he plays a huge role that's for sure.

kidderz90- Oh my god, thank you. That was reassuring. I'm not gonna answer that, but yes, there's a relevance to the conflicts in their respective realities. (and man, I do need to work on the plot layout; it's becoming too mysterious and vexing)

anon- umm. well, young!Dumbledore right? I don't know how to respond to this, but I won't judge you.


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